RPlog:The Third Battle of Coruscant, Part II
A shiver of sickening pleasure shoots through Kacela's body as her little ploy works and the soldier is cut in half. She is lost in the pleasure for a moment, which is aided by the deaths of others under the feet of the ATAT that eventually make their way towards the palace. Finally, she snaps out of her reverie and she rips her helmet off, tossing it to the ground, where it lands with a 'splut' rather than a clatter. And then she laughs, a cold, heartless laugh, "That was nice..' She hisses, and her mind reaches for another body, this time dead, and she hurls it at Simon, "Do it again.. strike with your anger, your hate.." 'anger' and 'hate are emphasized, and punctuated with other bits and pieces flying around. All is silent save fro her laughter and the sound of vehicles and men who are beginning to mop up the mess. They steer clear of Kacela and Simon. There is anger in Simon's heart, but it is not the consuming, festering sort of vileness that Kacela is attempting to invoke. Disappointment is also a part of Simon's myriad of swirling emotions, in that he should have known better than to enact such a defense when dealing with the Corrupter, the Tourist of Deceit. Another body is sent toward Simon, and again he senses it's approach. This time, he raises his left hand to gesture toward it, throwing his own will against the movement even as he points one of the tips of his lightstaff in Kacela's direction, lashing out with a different style of attack. It was one best used on wolves, when the howling cry of one would drive the pack away more effectively than the useless death of their number. The hunter is not angry at all, although she does grow slightly frustrated at Simon's defiance and lack of consuming anger. There will be plenty of time to turn him, and soon Simon will sit obediently at her feet like a nek puppy. Her thoughts are filled with satanic, childlike glee fuelled by the heat of the battle and the scent of the dead around her . She licks some of the blood and gore from the back of her hand and then she pauses for a moment as a tickle sends her hair on end, there is a sudden whisper of pain, but unfortunately for Simon, it is not sufficient to make her howl like a wolf, instead it fuels her. She growls and raises her saber in a fury, only /just/ knocking Simon's attack aside and she pushes her hand towards him, attempting to throw him to the ground among the rest of the dead, "Insolent fool.." she hisses. As the chaos dies down out in the plaza, a pair of personnell carriers settle around the side of the palace, New Republic markings on their sides. Their ramps remain closed, waiting until their cargo arrives, the Senators trapped in the building. Somehow, they would need to get out and this had been the agreed upon evacuation rendesvous point. Silently, and trying to attract as little attention as possible, the shuttles wait. Simon has just enough time to bring his left hand back to the silver shaft of his lightstaff when Kacela's telekinetic shove catches him full in the chest, knocking him back as surely as a kick to the solar plexis. His feet go out from under him and his back lands messily in blood and gore, providing a slippery, sickly route for him to slide back on. Even as he's sliding through the muck and grimness, he manages to hold onto his senses enough to grab himself with the True Source. He presses his slide several beyond where he would have stopped, then flips backwards, spinning his staff and flipping head over tail until he's once more on his feet, his weapon once more between he and Kacela, and his chest heaving from the exertion. The wonderful sounds of Simon sliding through the dead and dying sends another wave of laughter From Kacela's lips. She ignores the landing of the shuttles and the cleanup crews, as her sick and twisted little mind is focused on Simon, her prey. The hunter narrows her eyes and growls as she tucks down to move into a defensive stance, the smell of death surrounding her and gore on her once pristine armour. Although she knows that Simon could end up skewering her, kacela moves in for another attack, keeping her senses firmly planted on Simon so she can react before he does, with any luck.. especially as he is better with the blade than she is, "Coming back for more?" she taunts as she moves in, "I'll show you pain..." With her generic evil person taunt out of the way, Kacela attacks with a fancy twist of her wrist, the blade making a pretty spinning pattern as it moves in towards Simon. Dripping blood that is not his own, covered in the gore of battle from his slide through a place of death and dying, Simon looks every bit as dark and vile as Kacela would want him to feel. The appearance is only that, however, as he coldly shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, preparing for Kacela's next onslaught. Beneath his bloodstained attire, within his mind, the memory from his past continues to blend with the present. The Lioness had stared Simon down, sending shivers of fear through his being, until one of the village's greatest hunters had stepped forward, his spear spinning wildly in his able hands. They fought in the center of what had been Simon's home, the Lioness's victims strewn about them as the hunter and the fallen Selas danced their dangerous dance. The Lioness had raised her weapon at last, bringing it into a spinning pattern as she moved to finish of the hunter. The hunter's spear was too quick, however, and had found its mark twice, first drawing blood upon the Lioness's hand, then moving to take her throat even as she cut him down with the last of her will. Kacela's blade moves toward him in the spinning pattern, her anger and corruption fed by the mayhem of the battle that surrounded them, the death and suffering of the soldiers. Grimly, Simon steps forward to face her, to face his destiny. His staff becomes a green blur to match the motion of Kacela's orange, and with a cold grimness, he moves to strike and join the fate of the hunter he'd watched die so long ago. The lightstaff breaks the spin of Kacela's lightsaber with one tip as it bounces around to bring the other tip in for another strike. Before the strike can reach home, however, Simon's footing slips. The strike that was to take off Kacela's weapon hand only comes close enough to graze the flesh, searing it and cauterizing in the same instant, just as he slips backwards, pinwheeling to keep his balance and remain on his feet. With her mind so int tune with the force, and her thoughts so firmly planted on Simon, his thoughts and anger rush around ehr like a blur and she hisses as she senses his intentions. Like simon with the body, Kacela realizes at the last moment that it is too late to stop the inevitable, so she grits her teeth and prepares to meet the maker, her entire life flashes before her eyes in an instant.. being brought up on a slave colony, she remembers her father killing her mother and then beating her.. As simon's blade sears her wrist, Simon's face morphs into that of her father and as she hisses in pain, and drops her blade, something changes. Kacela snaps into a rage and she lets loose a pure, animal like howl as she sends a mental raking of claws towards Simon's belly, a pain that would make him feel like he were being opened up by a ferocious animal if he does not resist. Pain. For quite some time, Simon had been able to use his connection to the True Source to buffet against pain, holding it at bay when necessary until it could be contained or dealt with altogether. As the pain suffuses with his body, roiling his emotions together into a chaotic storm of fear, anger, and anguish, it occurs to him how fitting it should be that the True Source should be the source of his pain. His own mouth opens to emit a scream to match Kacela's, and he stumbles a few steps back, drawing him closer to the steps of the palace. With a great effort, he reaches back toward the True Source, clawing at it like a man scrambling up a tree to escape a predator. Slowly, surely, he's able to control the pain radiating through his abdomen, dulling it. Even with the animal like rage overcoming her, Kacela's subconscious reaches for her blade and it springs to her hand. The rage has dulled her pain and she uses the advantage of her painful attack to race towards Simon again, each little tussle driving the pair closer to the palace. As she nears, the blade springs forth from the saber again, and Kacela, looking more like a beast than a human, raises her blade and twirls it towards Simon, plunging it towards him in a stabbing motion, as one would use a regular blade! Allthat flows through her mind right now is rage.. there is no pain, there is no fear, there is only the anger that drives her to the dark side, and it's clear that the anger is the true source of her power. As he had been trained, as he'd done in the past, Simon bundles the pain from Kacela's previous attack into a bubble in the back of his consciousness, to be dealt with when he actually had the time to acknowledge such things. Even still, he moves with a certain stiffness as he takes a few more steps back and away from the rapidly advancing Kacela. He raises his staff, and nearly falls as the back of his right foot fumbles with the first of the stairs leading up into the palace behind him. While fighting from an elevated position gave a tactical advantage, the lack of solid, dependable footing left Simon with the feeling that if he should try and face the ferocious beast that was Kacela, he would die. She would rip open his stomach in truth rather than just in his mind. Orange blade strikes green, and the repeated battering of Kacela's attack is repeated, this time to provide enough momentum to hold her attack back, rather than intimidate his opponent. He would intimidate her no more this day, nor would he find reason or mercy in her eyes. With several quick twists and turns of his staff, Simon begins to ascend the stairs behind him, moving slowly and carefully up and into the palace, his eyes remaining fixed on Kacela as she presses on with her animalistic attack. The ferocious beast continues to press forward, even as Simon attacks. Her blade acts as her claws, slashing and blocking as the pair fight up the steps. Even if there is someone watching, Kacela doesn't particularly care, all she wants is the blood of Simon to pool about her feet if he will not submit to her. She growls and takes a deep breath, springing into the air and doing a fancy flip to get her onto the same level as Simon. The footing isn't completely even, and as she lands, Kacela stumbles a little, but she presses on, sending a couple of quick slashes with her blade, and then attempting a kick. As the sky darkens with smoke and the setting sun, kacela's face is eerily lit by the orange light from her blade, and it makes her look positively demonic. As Simon continues to move back and away from Kacela, his footing continuously slips on the smooth pavement, his boots still slick from the blood they'd been fighting in. Smudged, dark red footprints show his path clearly up the steps, and as his arms pump, his feet work like a man trying to walk across a frozen lake. And then, Kacela surprises him with an agile leap and an attack from a different direction. With his feet slipping and sliding beneath him, it's all he can do to block back the attacks, simply shifting his staff in front of him with twists of his upper torso. The two quick slashes strike his defensive blocks as the others had, in a shower of sparks and flashes of light. Her third attack, on the other hand, is different. As her foot arcs through the air toward his face, his staff shifts as it had against her lightsaber, cutting into the fleshy part of her calf and missing the bone by a few centimeters. That's one thing about lightsabers, they kind of cut through everything. Kacela's kick is stopped short as the blade sears through the light plastic covering her leg and then part of her flesh. Fortunately the wound is cauterised, but if this were a standard blade, she'd probably bleed a hell of alot. Kacela snaps back out of the bestial rage and she inhales sharply as her mind moves to turn the pain into something a little more productive.. like sending a blunt wave of force to Simon with the intention of pushing him /into/ the palace.. over the sharp, pointy debris which is partially blocking the entrance, and right into the gaping maw of the Empire's new home. Regardless of whether or not that works, Kacela limps towards the palace, not quite as quick on her feet, but still moving swiftly for someone who's almost lost both a leg and a hand. _______________________________________________ Throne Room -- Coruscant Palace The former Emperor's Throne Room is a sunken auditorium like a great crater dug into the bedrock. The spectator seats are flat, stone benches, arranged semi-circle in front of the stage-like area where a majestic throne sits. Under the Empire's rule, this was where visitors could come to hear the Imperial pronouncements directly from the Emperor himself. The amphitheater-style seating has been made more comfortable with the addition of soft, padded cushions. Acoustics are perfect, allowing the audience to hear the barest whisper from a person onstage or sitting on the THRONE. The reverse is also true and the council head is so bale, as the Emperor was long ago, to hear any question spoken to him from the highest row of benches, even whispered comments from one council member to another can be discerned. At the pinnacle of the room is an angled, prismatic skylight, which pours rainbows of color onto the throne. _______________________________________________ The arrival of the Imperials in teh room does not help with the feeling of foreboding Mira feels as she crouches beneath the Emperor's former throne. As she peers out onto the scene, things seems to slow down, the events seemingly happening in slow motion. As she watches the New Republic soldiers getting mowed down and the last vestiges of Republic power wane, she feels a darkness beginning to sweep over the room. Starting from somewhere down the hall and slowly creeping into the room, a murky grey veil spreads out from the double doors and sweeps over everything. From under the throne, she watches as the murkiness that only she seems to be able to see engulfs the room, only seemingly held at bay in the small area around the President at the New Republic. As the darkness seeps up to the throne, she can almost hear it as a buzzing in her ears. She can certainly feel it and as it approaches, it grows more and more powerful, until it sweeps over her hiding place, the blackness taking over the throne, the former seat of the Emporer himself. Unable to remain still any more, she scrambles out from underneath the seat, terrified, only to be immediately found by one of the Imperials, who seems to be only an extension of the darkness that has swept over the room. She stands up, the buzzing noise growing louder and louder in her ears as her panic grows, the power from whatever that darkness was growing stronger and stronger with each passing second. The deathly still air of the throne room has become thick and heavy with the resignation and defeat of its occupants. With the arrival of the darkly-clad form of Admiral Cimber, the feeling in the atmophere is magnified ten-fold. True, it is not as if Bacharan Valak himself had stepped into the room, but everyone within these chambers mot certainly recognizes the admiral's face by this time, and there is always a nervous, dark uncertainty associated with a high-ranking Imperial, no matter what his name or reputation. Surely, by the mere occassion of being a high-ranking officer, their background already implies untold horros, deception, and treachery. When such a man steps into a room filled with the helplessly leaders of the faction that he calls his enemy, the propects look bleak at best. Cimber takes a long, sweeping gaze around the magnificent throne room, this being his first experience of seeing it in person. And, indeed, in what better way could one imagine it than recently returned to the hands of the Empire. His eyes raise to the prism hovering above the throne itself, staring at its beauty and marveling at the natural complexity of its construction. His eyes tail downward, following the rainbow beams to the throne itself where, so long ago, Palpatine issued his degrees -- soon, it will serve as the seat for the new Emperor. Cimber takes his first steps down the center aisle, still watching the throne. He arrives near the bottom, where Kizuka stands with none other than Woren Isaal. That slow, sickly smile of success spreads across Cimber's face as he comes face to face with the Mon Calamari. The admiral's nostrils flare as he takes in the smell of sickness emanating from the fishman's pale skin and his smile grows even wider. How wonderful: the dying President of a now dead Republic. "Good evening, President Isaal. I am Vice Admiral Airion Cimber of the Imperial Navy," he greets in a pleasant, though distinctly triumphant tone. "Your time here, like that of your government, has ended." The clash of sabers is the first sign that Kacela and Simon are approaching, the hum and buzz and crashing of their energy weapons colliding with furiously. Their fight had been that way all the way through the grounds, each reaching to end the fight in a swift, powerful stroke, each being forced to give ground as their duel twisted and spun them closer and closer to the thrown room itself, like a magnet drawing iron filings. At last, they enter the throne room with a crash, as Kacela once more gives over to her more animalistic nature and hurtles herself at Simon. Green lightstaff holds orange lightsaber at bay as the two collide, and Simon falls backward onto the floor. Neither remain prone for more than a heartbeat, however, as Simon rolls back, lifting his leg with the impact and tossing Kacela further into the room behind him. As she flips through the air, landing easily on her feet despite her viscious leg wound, Simon scrambles less gracefully to his own feet, the blood from his own leg wound continuing to give him unsure footing, just as his footing had been precarious before Kacela had dashed him against the sharp, cutting stones of the Imperial palace steps. His enjoyment of the moment ruined by the entrance of the Jedi, Devron whips his head around to see what was going on. Barking at his troops, he says, "Protect the admiral! Do not let the man escape at any costs.!" He then readies his own weapon, not knowing what would come next. Woren_Isaal remains motionless for several moments as he stares at the Vice Admiral before him. His whiskers twitch slight and he sways ever so slightly. His aide is quick to steady the aged Mon Calamari, only to have his steadying arm shrugged away by Isaal. "Admiral..." he rasps, the tone of his voice defiant even in these last hopeless moments. "You were expected," he says, almost as if he is receiving a guest. He lifts his hands slowly toward the Admiral, as if to await restraints. His bulbous eyes lift to meet Cimber's as the two lightsaber-wielding beings charge into the room. His eyes do not leave Cimber's as he stands there, hands outstretched. "You realize that your hold on Coruscant is as slippery as it is on the rest of the Galaxy ... The Empire's tyrannical rule..." Here he stops, coughing as he stumbles slightly. What a way to end a perfect, peaceful moment for the Admiral and his men, that's for sure. The beckoning darkness from the throne room has guided the battle here, and it's clear from the look on Kacela's face that she's definitely lost in the moment. Her helmet is nowhere to be found, and her armour, which was once white, is covered in gore and blood, as is her face. The sith beast becomes even more empowered by the presence of the emperor's throne, and she continues her nasty and ferocious attack with yet another slash at the injured Simon with her saber and from the looks of things, she's trying to lop off his injured leg.. how nice of her! At once, as the sounds of combat and then the two duelling jedi appear, Kizuka snaps up his IR-5 pistol.. It's well known that he's never missed with it, as he draws a bead upon the male of the pair.. He's furious.. the moment of his greatest pride.. shattered? "Troopers! Cover them!" He orders, holding off from pulling the trigger yet though.. "Set for stun- he can't block it as well!" "Simon!" Mira exclaims in spite of herself as he bursts into the room. Having lost track of where him so long ago, she was glad to see him again, although she had a bad suspicion that this probably wasn't the best place for a reunion. Indeed, the Imperial's reaction to his entrance is less than encouraging. She does not, however, move from her spot, a side effect of the Imperial troops who are still guarding her. They were distracted, but not blind. Watching the lightsabers crash against each other, the buzzing in her ears fades out, becoming one with the buzzing and crashing of the dueling blades. Her hand dips into her cloack pocket, as no one was paying any attention to her, and draws out a handful of something. Tiny rocks, really. Her favorites. Nor do Cimber's eyes leave those of the Mon Calamari, nor does that smile as sick as Isall himself ever leave his face. No, not even a pair of raging Jedi will take his attention away from this moment. His entire career has prepared him for today, his entire career ha been spent working toward this day, and the past few months of his life have been wholly devoted to making it a reality. Nothing will ruin it, not a Jedi duel, nor a dying leader's words of defiance. The admiral leans a little closer to the Mon Calamari as the feeble being bends over in his frailty. He whispers something beyond the hearing of anyone else in the room, something that only Isaal himself is meant to hear, accompanying it with a hideous smile that would make the mot stalwart diplomat cringe. Cimber's poison laced voice completes the President's sentence with a single short, conclusive phrase... ".... is only beginning." Time draws out like a blade for a moment as several things happen all at once for Simon. Even as his staff whirls to intercept the lightsaber intent on taking his leg, his eyes shift to the diminutive frame of Mira as she calls out his name, and a small part of his mind registers Kizuka's voice as he gives his order to fire upon him. A flash of light and a crash like lightning erupts from neary Kacela and Simon are fighting as their weapons collide again, and the reality of the situation rolls through Simon's mind like thunder across an open field. His back was to the door, and he could run for his life before the stun blasts found their mark in his flesh. Kacela would surely pursue, but he had done well in fighting her thus far, and perhaps his destiny would not be met in their Dance of the Blades yet. But Mira... he couldn't abandon her. She was more than just her friend, she was like his Little Sister, a Selas initiate under his training and tutelage, and ultimately, her life was his responsibility, no matter the cost. As time returns to normal in Simon's mind, the sound of a double-whoosh can be heard as he extinguishes his weapon and holds the silent, silver shaft of it above his head with both hands. If Mira were to go to the hangman's noose, he would be there at her side, so that she would not die alone. Coming in through the main doors, long enough after the Jedi that they didn't run into each other in the halls, Zeak and two IGF soldiers enter, and come to a dead halt in surprise at the sight. Behind them a few others can be seen, some of which may enter themselves in short order. A formal point of protocol has brought them here, which is apparent from the fact that they have removed their helmets, and taken a moment to remove the blood and grime from their armor. The exact reason might be inferred from the object in the Captain's hands, an Imperial Ensign; he has come to see to the official pomp of raising the Imperial Ensign over palace once again, symbolizing it's return to Imperial control. Woren_Isaal does his best to maintain the gaze of the Admiral, but his failing body will not obey him. He begins to fall to his knees and an aide reaches out to steady him, but is too late. The Mon Calamari, former leader of the New Republic, is tired and ready to die. Unfortunately, he doesn't have any illusions about dying peaceably. If anyone looks closely at Kacela, it would be noted that she seems to be fighting now /with her eyes closed!/ Even though the room is full of her fellow Imperials, and the dead and dying NR soldiers and president, Kacela doesn't stop her attacks and defence, sweat beads on her forehead as she continues clashing with Simon, their blades casting an eerie glow and eerie shadows around the throne room. The beauty of their ferocious battle is almost poetic, and quite fitting considering their current position. As Simon holds the silver shaft above his head, kacela growls and swipes her blade towards him, the world moves in slow motion and suddenly the wo4rds of valak enter her mind.. he wants Simon alive. The blade sizzles through a layer of clothing before Kace pulls back and releases her energy in the form of another ferocious claw attack at his guts, "You will be alive.." she growls, "but you.. will be in pain..." Moments after the arrival of Zeak comes the entrance of Hawke, hands clasped behind his back as he follows the Captain, his head shifting from side to side as he glances around, a faint smirk placing across his lips as his gaze shifts from Zeak towards the others in the room as he begins to move forward. "Simon, nOooOOOoo!" Mira yells as Kacela continues to swipe at Simon despite the fact that he has extinguished his blade. Taking a deep breath, she hurls the handfull of tiny rocks in her hand towards Kacela, finding, for once, that gaining control of her aim isn't something that takes an eternity to do. The rocks zip through the air on a collision course with the Hunter, or the Corruptor, or any of the other myriad of names that Mira knows Kacela as. "Don't you hurt him!" she cries out, pressing her lips together and trying to fight off the darkness that she feels has infiltrated the entire room. The pale, bulbous head of the Mon Calamari kneeling before him provides one of the most enticing targets Cimber has ever seen. The impotent leader of the New Republic, on his knees, half-dead before him. A gloved hand twitches, moving like instinct for the holstered blaster at his side. Nothing... -nothing- would give him greater pleasure than to shower the throne room floor with the blood of the leader of the New Republic. But then, he remembers, Cimber remembers the others in the room, the Senators all looking on at their former leader, helpless before the tyrant. If the admiral killed him, he would be a martyr, their support would be forever lost. Isaal must -want- to be a martyr, to die for his beliefs in one final moment of dignity. The smile on Cimber's face drains away and is replaced by a mild smirk, a smirk of disgust. Perhaps there is one thing he would like more than to execute Woren Isaal right now, and that is it watch him die indignantly and shamed as the helpless creature that he has become. -That- will be his execution. Cimber's smile returns to his face and, without a word, he gives a small bow to the ailing creature before turning about and walking away, leaving him in the hands of the stormtroopers. Simon has surrendurred, and as such, can not honorably move to defend himself as Kacela makes her last strike. He had looked into her eyes before, and had seen the endless rage and hatred there, and he had known that she would show no mercy or honor in their battle. As the orange lightsaber moves through the air, Simon closes his eyes, preparing himself to let go his physical shell and rejoin the True Source at last. A searing pain erupts from his chest as the very tip of her weapon grazes his skin and slices cleanly through his clothing, and he staggers backward, from shock as much as the pain, as she extinguishes her own saber. Then the assualt of pain sets in, and the pain he'd held at bay up until now comes crashing home. He falls to his knees, and the clatter of his extinguished lightstaff echoes in his ears, along with the wail ripped from his lips. The troops guarding Mira might have been distracted by the battle before, but her sudden outburst draws their attention back to her. Seeing that perhaps she might be trouble, one of them takes the butt of his rifle and jabs her with it, knocking her to the ground. The fury and anger in Kacela's face cause sit to twist into an ugly mask that would scare every child in the galaxy, and probably a few adults. She relishes Simon's pain and anguish.. that is until a few rocks find their way towards her and pelt into her. of course, right now, this is like attacking a krayt dragon with a feather, and it only makes Kacela mad! Despite the ringing and stabbing pain in her head, kacela draws enough energy to send a blunt fist across the room towards Mira, the last of her uncontrolled rage being sent with her attack. After that is done, the sith stumbles back slightly and she closes her eyes... the exertion has been a little too much. Without saying a word to anyone, Kace spins on her heels and half limps and half stalks out of the throne room to curl up in a corner somewhere and lick her wounds. As the rifle butt comes crashing down onto Mira's head, she grunts softly, beginning to crumple to the floor, her eyes falling shut before she can even see the results of her rock throwing. What happens next, however, indicates that her rocks found their mark. Before she can fall to her knees unconcious, she is hurled backwards into the wall just behind the throne. It is then that she finally hits the ground, falling to her knees before her head thumps to the floor. Seeing the wounded Jedi concede, and that Morgana was going to leave him alive. Devron motions for the guards to surround him, and take him into custody. Devron hadn't seen a Jedi in years ... atleast not a so-called 'light' Jedi. Even though he probably doesn't need to specify it, he says, "Take extra care with this one, men. He's the mischivous sort." As the troops shackle the man, he adds, "Take this one, and the woman, back to the ship. Make sure they are in separate areas. I don't want them 'communicating' with one another." Kneeling down in front of the man, Devron looks into his eyes and says in a low tone, "When we are done with you, I expect you will wish she had finished you here. There is no escape." As if an afterthought, he adds, "Oh, and if you won't talk to save your own skin, perhaps you will do so for hers. Something to consider, I would think. Yes?" With that, he stands and walks away, allowing the troops to do their jobs. As the room is secured, like Zeak was told it was in the first place, he gestures to the two troopers with him, who immediately move to aide in the securing of the Jedi. Once again donning his officer's face (the one he uses exclusively around his superiors) he then begins crossing the room toward the Imperial Vice Admiral, his helmet under his arm, Imperial Ensign between his clean black gloved hands. Yes today has been one for the biography. "Make sure they are both given complete searches, and everything they are carrying is confiscated! There will not be repeats of the incident with the pilot," Zeak adds to the troopers, making sure they hear him. The last thing he wants is an armed Jedi wandering around his ship after he has cut his way out of the cell block. At this moment, Hawke has nothing to say, his hands remaining clasped behind his back as his boots echo lightly, adding to the meriod of sound within the room. He has now fallen back a step and slightly to the side of Zeak, though his path is the same. He stops looking around for the moment, his gaze shifting towards Zeak before it finally comes to rest on the Vice Admiral. "Belay that order, trooper," the admiral interjects upon hearing Devron's commands. Cimber has moved to the area near where Simon has been surrounded, though well within what one might call "safe distance" from him, if such a thing exists when near a Jedi, even a wounded one. The cold eyes of the Imperial trace over Simon's fallen form, mildly curious about the fallen man. Jedi intrigue him, as they do everyone, but a man in Cimber's position would do well to learn how to deal with them. So far, the best answer seems to be to leave them to other Jedi, but that has never satisfied the admiral; there must be another way. That is something he will ahve to investigate another time, however. "Take him and his... admirer," Cimber tates in his cold tone, glancing in the direction of the fallen girl, "to the 'Palpatine.' They are for the Emperor to deal with." As Kacela moves away, the waves of pain overwhelming Simon's senses subside somewhat, but only a little. The rememberance of the pain is enough to keep any man on his knees, and most men weeping. The latter, at least, he is able to avoid, even as the Imperial speaks to him as if he were a slimy bug found under a stone. Slowly, carefully, Simon raises his head and looks at the bonds that have been so easily secured to his wrists and ankles while he was stunned from Kacela's assault. He had sensed that he was approaching... something... and now he knew exactly what it was. Defeat at the hands of the Hunter and the Imperials. Hands bound, and troopers on ether side, Ginger grogilly wakes up from being stunned. She was actually supprised that she hadn't been taken yet to where ever they were going to stash the senators and other prisoners. Only moving her eyes she takes inventory of the situation around her...she had to stop almost as soon as she started, there was no point. Zeak stops within a few feet of the Admiral, and falls into the posture of attention, his gloved hands holding the flag like they were the white gloves of a parade uniform and he were a cadet assigned to the color guard at graduation. He quietly waits to be recognized, and to report, like a good and proper officer should. Hawke comes to stop along side of Zeak, hands unclasping and coming to rest by his side as he adopts the position of attention beside Zeak, his gaze resting on the Vice Admiral for the moment. Devron, seeing that the prisoners were taken care of, walks over to the group of assembled officers. He takes position on the other side of Zeak, also standing at attention. Cimber's cloak billows slightly as he clasps his arms behind his back, looking over the fallen Jedi one last time. "Make sure he is unconscious," he orders with tinge of concern to Devron. There are only two types of safe Jedi, the dead kind and the unconscious kind. While Cimber would prefer the former, his master would much rather enjoy the latter. Without another word regarding Simon, the admiral turns about to face Zeak and Hawke, the elder man's cool gaze passing between the two of them. Silently, his gaze falls to the folded flag in the captain's hands where his eyes remained fixed for a time. Yes, and unfolding. An unfolding of events to come, great and miraculous events, events that will change the shape of the galaxy. How better to herald this new coming than with the banner of its ruler. Cimber's sharp eyes raise to greet the captain once more, fixing Zeak's clear eyes with his own. Zeak had lost much on the way to this moment, including something that can never be replaced. Perhaps he deserves the honor of raising that banner as much as any other. The admiral says nothing, but his odd stare carries a language of its own, one which Zeak is sure to interpret. Cimber gives the younger man a curt nod and walks past him, moving for the stairs leading out of the throne room. He silently begins his ascent, arms still clasped behind his back. Zeak allows the admiral to pass, remaining at attention until the Admiral is out of sight. After breaking attention, although his posture remains quiete strict, and glancing to the officers to his sides he speaks, "Gentlemen. Would you care to accompany me to the chainging of the colors?" Devron nods, "Of course, Sir. Today is a great day for the Empire. A great day for the galaxy." Yes, with any luck the liberation of the capital would be the beginning of the end for the galactic civil war. Perhaps, at last, there would be peace. Though he was first and formost a soldier, Devron had tacked husband and father onto his list of titles, and peace was something he greatly desired. He didn't want his children (and one day grandchildren) to have to witness this sort of thing. Hawke offers a slight nod of his head towarsd Devron and Zeak. This is nothing new for Hawke, as his mind whirls back to the other places that the Empire has taken and the other change of colors that he has witnessed. The Senator sneers at the ceremony that was unfolding in front of her. She may not be able to move, but she could think, and speak while she still had her wits about her. Her eyes slowly touch every Imperial's proud smirk, it all sickened her. Ginger had but one thing to do before she was lead off by these buffons or forced to watch the proud New Republic flag fall. She closes her eyes and screams as quickly as she can without being silenced before he gets every word out. "LONG LIVE THE REPUBLIC!" One of the troops makes a point to painfully jab the loud prisoner in the back with his rifle. "Quite, you!" The words, 'make sure he's unconscious' are caught in Simon's ears, if none of the others are. He closes his eyes as he awaits the butt of a rifle to his head, or the stinging blast of a blaster set to stun. It was not the most honorable way to be taken, but he would face it as honorably as he could. The senator's cry opens his eyes, and he turns his head in her direction. From her distress, she sounded as a mother crying out over the loss of her child. Perhaps that's what the loss was like to her. Whatever the price was, it seemed odd that such a change should occur on this planet of cold stone and technological terror. Ignoring the comment, Zeak moves to the stairwell, flag in hands and begins quietly proceeding to the roof. As he starts up, a bugler, an IGF grunt by trade who just happens to know how to play the instrument and was thus made company bugler, dashes in, hoping he isn't too late. Seeing the Captain, proceeding upward he assumes he is to follow, after whatever officers are to join them. Though the Jedi might have been expecting a blow to the head, or a stun, instead he got the feeling of cold metal being pressed against his kneck, as a doctor injected him a sedative. A very powerful, but safe sedative, devolped by R&D for just such a case. The last thing they wanted to do was further damage the Emperor's prize. Cimber continues to ascend the stairs until he reaches the topmost tier, looking down into the expansive throne room. The troopers begin to round up the former Senators and usher them to the exit, where they will all be systematically loaded onto transports and ferried away for cataloguing. Interesting times await them, that is certain. The cry of the young Senator grabs Cimber's attention quite forcefully, his head jerking in her direction as the stormtroopers prod her up the stairs. An almost mirthful smile crosses his lips as she passes by, her defiant eyes humoring him with their ferocity. Like all rebels, she simply doesn't know when to quit. That must be why her people selected her. "Ah, my dear... perhaps you have not heard," he says the pleasant tone of a dignitary as she is ushered by. His words are as cool as steel sliding into the open wound of an adversary... "The New Republic is dead." The feeling of the injector against his neck sends Simon's mind reeling. They were going to... poison him? As his eyes quickly become heavy, he fumbles for the True Source, latching onto it numbly. There were poisonous creatures in the forests of Telgosse, and as he slumped forward in his chains, his eyes close as he sets in motion the chain of events that would keep him alive against the toxin. His last thought before sleep takes him are of Mira, wishing that fate had chosen for them different paths. Third Battle of Coruscant, Part II